


crashin' into your heart like i do

by secretsarenotforfree



Category: Hart of Dixie
Genre: Borderline Sickfic, Caring Aggressively, Early s2 is a Safe Space, F/M, Various Townspeople - Freeform, idk i love 2x13 that is all, with HEART
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29529945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretsarenotforfree/pseuds/secretsarenotforfree
Summary: Half, if not all the town was a little bit in love with Wade Kinsella, and Zoe couldn’t blame them because, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.Or at least, that's what she tells herself.
Relationships: Zoe Hart/Wade Kinsella
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	crashin' into your heart like i do

**Author's Note:**

> so when i watch 4.01 and zoe rips my heart out by saying "i know what i know. what i've known since..." LIKE GIRL WHEN IS SINCE. TELL US. SAY IT LOUD, SPEAK INTO THE MIC. i have decided that 'since' is 2.13 because zoe is caring so LOUDLY at wade the whole time i was like girl you in love. full on hercules muse vibes. and here are are. it's not long but it's kind of cute.
> 
> title from 'hard to love' by lee brice

It was, needless to say, extremely inconvenient.

Like everything was. Like most of her life happened to be since she’d left New York, even if it had more or less worked itself out in some kind of backwoods, meant to be kind of way. Zoe liked her life. She liked her practice, liked her carriage house, liked endless opportunities for shorts in the weather, and maybe even undeniably loved this town. Loved Bluebell and its ticks and accents and catfish and townspeople. 

Or, in this particular, supremely inconvenient moment, loved one townsperson in particular. Or loves, if Zoe's being all tense accurate. Because of course it would take a damn town quarantine to make her realize that somewhere between wanting to dunk his head consecutively in the pond that they shared and wanting to yell at him until her cheeks turned red, between kisses that knocked her on her ass before they even meant anything and dumb, stupid, charming grins, Zoe had fallen head over ass. Heels over brain. For _Wade Kinsella_ , something she would’ve laughed in the face of right after she’d stumbled out of that damn Chevrolet for the first time. 

The Zoe of now would slap that girl silly and tell her that the things she didn’t know could fill two separate townships Bluebell's size, and knowing Wade the way she did, it made complete sense that she ended up here. Half, if not all the town was a little bit in love with Wade Kinsella, and Zoe couldn’t blame them because, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. Or at least, that's what she tells herself.

The sentiment of which, excuse wise, is a little funny all by itself because it implies Zoe had much choice in joining. It insinuates that there was a little button, or a card she chose, to lead her to this place. Willingly took her to a place where seeing his dimples made everything inside her shiver happily and thinking there might not be a single thing in this world, not even a pair of her favorite heels, that topped play fighting with him.

God, with _Wade_.

Damn him. Just on the principle of the thing. But also, bless him.

The realization was coming at, of course, the worst of times. The worst of times being closer to five am than not, staring at the ceiling of her bedroom that Wade had painted, needing to be up in a couple hours to start her flu house calls all over again. She’s running on doctorly will and stubbornness and isn’t it the worst thing that on top of all of that, she _misses_ him.

She misses Wade.

Like a lot. Like more than when she was expecting, especially considering he was supposed to be back in Bluebell only a couple of hours or so after his gig and now it was probably the first night she’d spent without him in bed since she’d asked him to be hers for all the town to see. Zoe could stretch out her legs and toss and turn all she wanted without his half awake grumbles to stop making like a bear with an itch to scratch. She could burrow in her covers without counting on his bare chested, dependable heat, would wake up in a few hours without shifting awake and feeling exactly how much Wade wanted her even when he wasn’t fully conscious. 

And she didn’t like it.

She didn’t like it so much that she stewed over the thought all the next day and it was the foremost one in her mind until Cody and then half the freaking town, somehow, fell prey to the disease she’d been trying so hard to not let in. Because _of course_ . And Wade _still_ wasn’t answering her voicemails. Stupid jerk. Stupid jerk who she maybe, sort of, might be in love with. 

(Not that he knew that. Not that Zoe had any idea if or when she would ever tell him.)

Wanda was a sweetheart through and through, and seeing her fall sick got to Zoe a little more than she’d be willing to admit. Every new patient that got admitted to the tents she’d set up in towns square sent a little dart into Zoe’s heart, but she was growing a little used to the bittersweet feel of it. Caring cost a lot, but it also gave, and she’s coming to terms with the whole situation.

Still, a fever of 103 wasn’t a joke.

“Son of a big fat sweaty hog butt!” As always, Bluebellians manage to say the craziest things in the world, so this doesn’t faze Zoe too much. Especially when coming from the generally optimistic, occasionally hot tempered waitress. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to swear.”

“I don’t think you did,” Zoe tells her helpfully, trying to sound comforting. She adds a bless you when Wanda sneezes and patiently listens to whatever follows, now knowing better than most that half of doctoring is listening to whatever story spilled from the lips of her patients. Especially when this one brought up her own personal Where’s Waldo, or in this case, Wade. Unfortunately, Zoe knew that goofy red hoodie painfully well, and if Wade had a twin, she’s pretty sure she would’ve met him by now. No more Jesse’s popping up, please.

She tells herself it’s mostly anger, and not caring, that fuels her all the way to the end of her self mandated shift at the tents. Fury at the break in quarantine, and the not telling her, and how stupid he was like _always_ was absolutely what simmered under her skin during her two house calls she paid on the way to the property she knew better now than her studio in New York. Irritation that put the power behind her smacks to his paneled doors, that filled her lungs to yell “Open up quarantine breaker! Come on, open the _stupid_ door!” The door was stupid and so was he, but all that whooshed out of her brain when she first heard the very Not Good sounds of rough coughs and everything but panic and worry drops to the pit of her stomach.

It’s surprisingly easy to bust the glass and open the door because Wade is in there and he’s freaking _sick_ and she’s a doctor for Chrissakes and she’s getting to him, come hell or high water or despite him on principle. He looks _awful_ , her Alabama boy - his permanent, earned by years under the southern sun tan washed pale underneath, chapped lips and the aforementioned goofy hoodie crumpled on his couch of all places. Zoe ignores the churn of her stomach at the thought of him not being able to get to the bed by himself and does her best to turn her hand into a thermometer with all her years of med school behind her.

“Shut _up_.” She whispers to him fiercely, still cupping his cheek, fear and pissed off ness fighting for his only words for her being about his window. “I cannot believe you. Were you sick before or after you broke the law and came back, huh? How long have you been here?”

Wade shuffles his arms into the same folded position he’s had when she came in, and still barely opens his eyes for her. Even if he did, Zoe has a bad feeling that he wouldn’t be meeting hers. “Maybe, one question at a time? It’s been two years Doc, you’d think that your bedside banner would’ve improved by now.”

“Bedside? _Bedside_ !” Zoe wants to yell at him so bad it near physically pains her. She wants to yell at him and baby him and smack him and make him soup all at the same time. It’s extremely confusing, just like this man who’d made his way into her heart first a little and then a lot and knowing Wade it all makes sense but she still hates it. And him. (And loves him.) “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but if anything this is _couch_ side and the Hippocratic Oath says nothing about that.” She brushes her thumb against his perfect cheekbones and fights the unfair well of sadness that wells up in her throat at the clamminess. Wade’s going to be _fine._ He’s going to be. He’s gotta be. He’s a mess on two legs that too handsome and charming for his own good and he’s gotten himself into worse.

Wow, she’s spiralling. 

(Maybe she’s realizing she loves him more than initially assessed.)

It’s a struggle, but Zoe gets him into bed. They fight over him taking care of himself, and it ends sourly, and she has to swallow past the hurt when she stomps out his place and fights really, really hard not to think about him when she gets back to town square and makes a couple high spirited rounds just on anger.

He’s so _dumb_ . Dumb for wanting to suffer alone, dumb for not wanting to seem vulnerable, dumb for being afraid to see her care. Didn’t Wade know that that was all they had been _doing_ for a while now? Even before this thing between them became official, their fights had stemmed, in some depth or another, of caring loudly at each other. Often hurtfully, but also not.

She gives up on the futile attempt to _not_ think about it - Zoe gets a little obsessive about problems she wants to solve, and knowing that Wade was in that goofy freaking hoodie suffering and she literally _made this her lifes work_ -

All in all, she made it around one hundred and twelve minutes exactly before she was back at his stupid door, with stupid fresh chicken noodle and a whole lot to say. 

“I know! You can take care of yourself.” The small doctor would throttle him if her hands weren’t so busy holding his food tray and balancing so the spoon didn’t fall off. “Guess what, dum-dum. You’re doing it wrong. Now that you have me, you’re supposed to let me take care of you. That’s how you take care of yourself. Get it?”

Wade still looks a mess, but he asks what flavor soup he brought her and Zoe begrudgingly thinks that, maybe, she’s making progress. And they’re making progress. And she might be in love with the most foolish bartender in Alabama, but when she tucks him into bed later that evening and still cuddled close to him to listen to him breathe that night, Zoe thinks that if she cares this much, _maybe._ Just _maybe._

(Wade is gentler when she ever could have guessed, when it’s his turn to take care of her. His voice gets that soft tone it usually only does when he’s worried about Earl, he’s so close to Zoe’s elbow at all times that she almost hits him just turning around in bed. Somehow, he makes a mean cup of tea, and when she half heartedly begs him to at three am and she can’t sleep because of the cold and heat Wade sings the only Elvis Presley song she likes at her so quiet Zoe’s not sure if she fever dreamed it or not.

What she does know, is when her fever breaks right before the crack of dawn, enough to have Zoe open her eyes a little, he’s there. Wrapped around her despite what she was sure had been strong heat just because it made her feel better when he rubbed her back. She allows herself the thought, when she’s tucked her head back under his chin and drifting back to sleep, that if she’s really, really lucky, it’ll all work out in the end.)


End file.
